


Research and Development

by sunflowerwonder



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (Non-Graphic) Minor Character Death, Agent/Civilian Relationship, Confessions, Did I mention double life?, Dirk Strider is Q, Double Life, Falling In Love, Fluff, Guns, Injury, Kidnapping, Kisses, M/M, MI6, Secret Identity, Sexual Content, Threats, secret agent AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:23:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwonder/pseuds/sunflowerwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk Strider is cold, brutal, painfully efficient, and—if several of his underlings are to be believed—secretly heartless. </p>
<p>Dirk Strider is warm, hopeful, painfully nervous, and very much in love with a civilian named Jake English.</p>
<p>There is only so long these worlds can coexist before they start to bleed together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Date/Last Check-Up

**Author's Note:**

> Quirky posting format. I hope you'll stick around.
> 
> Also on [my Tumblr](http://dirkar.tumblr.com/post/130837704011/research-and-development-dirkjake-agent-au), if you want to follow it there.

 

"So, what do you do for a living?" Jake asks with a smile.

The question is casual, nothing more than the basic survey one asks on a first date. Jake takes a sip of his soda and grins around the straw, casual and cute. The coarse gargle of the drink in the subsequent silence lets the both of them know it’s almost empty. The lingering pressure for a response weighs heavy against Dirk's head. A loaded gun pressed to his temple.

"I work for the government," he replies. The truth has never felt more like a lie. "IT. Occasionally research and development."

"Computer savvy, eh?" Jake grins without missing a beat. He's barely touched his chicken strips. Dirk can't remember the last time a guy—or anyone, really—was so interested in talking to him.

“Something like that,” Dirk says.

"I see. Got'a grandma all up into that electronic babble. A real way with logic, that one. Can’t say I’m prone to the techno-jazz myself though," Jake replies. He takes another sip of his drink before his eyes light up and his hands slam suddenly against the table, making Dirk’s adrenaline spike. "Oh! That brings up an excellent little lightbulb though! Have you ever heard of electroswing?"

"Electroswing?" Dirk inquires, letting the conversation glaze over his occupation with a thankful breath.

"It's a jaunty new-wave-y something or other music genre that's been cropping up around the continental Europe. It’s an absolute hodgepodge of traditional swing and electronic selections,” Jake explains. His face looks even more flushed from excitement and first date-jitters beneath the fluorescents of the diner.

Dirk allows himself a genuine laugh and attempts to relax. “Sounds both obscure and ridiculous. I’m game.”

Jake nods vigorously at the encouragement. "Do you listen to vinyls? You could borrow some of my favorites. I don’t have much of a collection yet but I’m right excited to start building it and I could absolutely lend you a couple samplings—"

He stalls.

“That is, uh,” he mumbles out, tone suddenly embarrassed. “If you would be interested in… something of that nature. That is if you even want to see me again. I really shouldn’t assume—”

"I do," Dirk grins. He tugs the sleeve of his shirt down a little more, though he already knows the mottling bruise on his forearm is hidden. "And I'd love that."

 

::::::::::

 

"Pain?" Jane asks him. Her eyes are focused and her tone is demanding, but Dirk's learned to expect nothing less from her. She tilts his hand back farther and he feels the bruised tendons of his wrist being pulled taught.

"4," he says through gritted teeth.

"Horseshit," she states. Dirk snorts at her. "Do pardon my language, but that is complete and utter horseshit. That’s a seven at least."

He pulls his injured hand from her grip and shakes it loosely. "I can go back to work."

She attempts to lift up his shirt but he promptly shoves it back down. It does little to dampen their mutual knowledge of the purple blossoming across his ribs.

"Dirk," she says, exasperated.

" _Doctor_ ," he replies, mocking her tone.

Jane sighs, rubbing her forehead and scribbling down notes on Dirk's medical report. "For goodness' sake. You were captured, detained, threatened at gunpoint, thrown from a car onto a _highway_ —"

"Escaped," Dirk corrects.

"Escaped, yes, but that's not even touching upon that little vanishing act from monitored surveillance you pulled last night," she says. "This is my med bay, I hope you know, and I don't take kindly to my patients just waltzing up from their beds for a midnight stroll!" There's a muted rip as the pen she's holding in her steeled grip rips right through the paper of the med notes.

"I had a date."

"With death, maybe," she mutters. "You’re a department head for MI6. Please, Dirk, act a little more like it."


	2. Confess/Admit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time we'll get some semi-actual action. But office gossip for now.

"You're awfully quiet," Jake notes. His voice is muffled beneath the ruffled fabric of an oversized scarf. The redness of his cheeks barely peeks out over the top of it. “I know I chatter up a storm when I’m nervous but you’re particularly soft-spoken for such a competent bloke.”

The casual complement strikes Dirk rather unexpectedly. He feels his own cheeks heat up.

"You'll have to forgive me," Dirk says. He glances off towards the leaves of a nearby tree, another couple resting beneath it and enjoying the park. "I'm not particularly... adept at this."

"You too, huh?"

Dirk works up the courage to glance back at his date.

"I mean," Jake rushes out, mittened hand movements fumbling along with his words. "Not that I'm implying anything detrimental about our assumed past dating histories of course it's just that I'm... Well I'm not used to getting callbacks, so to speak, and theatrical metaphors aside this is just--I'm a little overwhelmed," he takes a breath. Then lets out a laugh. "I'm so very overwhelmed."

Dirk feels knots smooth out in his chest, the tenseness drain from his shoulders. "It's alright," he replies. His healing hand is an ugly shade of green but it finds fingers to entwine with, Jake's grip tightening as a particularly chilly breeze washes over them. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing either."

 

::::::::::

 

A door is thrown open haphazardly into the darkness, illuminating the pitch black environment Dirk had worked so hard to create for himself. His assistant stands silhouetted against the square of white light the door has unveiled, her pose commanding his attention.

“I want details,” Roxy demands. Her lipstick is a vibrant purple today, pressed firmly in a pout.

“What?” Dirk replies, squinting into the offending brightness. “'The hell are you doing in here? I asked not to be disturbed.”

She stalks over to the blinds, tugging them open to reveal a perfect overlook of the Technology Branch outside his office. He lets out a grunt when the full force of the lights hits him through the glass walls.

“Chill out, you bastard. You’re not developing film.”

Dirk quickly saves his progress on the high-security document he was in the process of encrypting. It wasn’t as glamorous of work as when he assisted in actual missions, but it was something he didn’t trust anyone but himself to get right.

“What do you want,” he asks. “Unlike the rest of this department, I don’t have time to waste on cat videos.”  

Roxy huffs. “You see? It's this kind of stuff that makes you unlikable. Youngest T-Branch Quartermaster ever and you’re a bigger curmudgeon than the last geezer that kicked the bucket.”

“Roxy,” he says. “Tact.”

“Dirk,” she replies. “Are you gonna tell me about _him_ or not?”

Dirk stills, his fingers hovering over his keyboard.

“What?”

“You know, your date!”

“How did you know about that?”

“Pshh.” Roxy waves her pink-polished nails at him. “Details.”

“Roxy.”

“Kay, but don’t get mad, alright?”

“I can’t promise that.”

“I…” she starts, “I might have hacked into your medical profile?”

“ _Roxy,_ ” Dirk berates. “That is a breach of privacy on so many levels—”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she says, voice coming out sudden and a little too loud. “It’s not like you would tell me if you were hurt, anyway.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“God, you’re such an ass," Her pink eyes roll with the contempt of the teenager she no longer is. “Just tell me about your damn date already.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well you disappeared from monitored surveillance for, and I quote your med notes here, ‘a date’. So don’t leave me high and dry, Dirk. I’m like the second most likely living being to die from curiosity after cats.”

Dirk stays silent, eyes blankly focusing on his screen. He doesn’t know what to say, really. A blush creeps up his neck that he hopes she doesn’t notice.

“Can you at least confirm/deny you were totally with someone?” Roxy pleads. Her pout is back. “For me? Please?”

“I... Yeah,” Dirk says, quietly. Only because Roxy is one of his very few friends. “I was with someone.”

“Really?"

"Yes."

"Yes!” Roxy repeats, her overabundance of bracelets jingling as she takes to bouncing on her toes.

“Not that it’s suddenly any of your business,” Dirk calls over the uproar.

“Oh-em-gee,” she laughs excitedly. “You! Someone else! I was right! Jane thought you were just being aloof."

"You've talked to Jane about this?"

"Eh," Roxy shrugs. "Talk is a relative term. When Internal Resources gets a request to overhaul the medical security system in a couple days, tell her I'm sorry."


	3. Creation/Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice date. Meanwhile, Dave is stuck with his weird time player death-magnet thing in every universe.

 

“So tell me about yourself,” Dirk prompts. The restaurant is slightly more upscale than what he’s used to. His position granted him a nice salary, but he was hardly the type of person to frequent any joint classier than a hasty takeaway pizza parlor.

“Oh, yes,” Jake says, shoulders shrugging as he stuffs another eggroll in his mouth. “That’s certainly a topic, isn’t it? Here I am grilling you day long about your hobbies and interests all while retaining only the vaguest sense of myself—you’ll have to excuse me—“

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Dirk interrupts. Jake freezes, another piece of their appetizer a few inches from his mouth. Dirk is struck with the gut-wrenching feeling he's said something wrong.

“I mean, I already told you I’m nervous too,” Dirk continues after a few beats of awkward silence. He clears his throat.

“You did,” Jake says. “Could’a fooled me, though.”

“Maybe I’m just better at compensating.”

Jake seems to take a second to process this. He looks at Dirk with a funny sort of expression, his eyebrows scrunched and his head cocked to the side like a dog.

“You’re a rather quirky fellow,” he notes. It’s with a casual tone that catches Dirk off guard.  

“Quirky?” he repeats, face blank.

“Yeah,” Jake says.

“In a bad way?”

“In an attractive way.”

Jake smiles a bit, striking green eyes seemingly looking through him. It makes the skin on Dirk’s arms tingle.

“I don’t think quirky has many attractive connotations, especially in this context,” he manages to mutter in response.

“Well you put it in an attractive context, now don’t you?” Jake grins, laughing a little bit when Dirk takes a lengthy sip of his drink in obvious embarrassment.

“I just asked you a question,” Dirk says, attempting to not make eye contact and flushing when he does.

“I like movies,” Jake replies. “Satisfied?”

 

::::::::::

 

"So she's a civilian?" Dave's grainy voice asks over the com situated inconspicuously in his ear.

"It's a he, but yes," Dirk corrects. His eyes scan over the partial thermal mapping of the underground complex Dave was currently dispatched in. "Take the next left you come across. Three guards on patrol. Getting visuals now."

Dirk listens to Dave's footsteps trotting along the concrete tunnels with the grace of an experienced agent. While Dave is busy with the more bloody side of espionage, Dirk infiltrates the complex's security cameras. He hears the muffled sound of gunshots from I silencer he built himself, and when the video feed finally comes online he finds Dave staring up at him from beneath the nearest camera. Three men, presumably dead but at least incapacitated, litter the floor behind him.

"It's a guy?" Dave asks pointedly.

"Yes," Dirk replies.

“A guy,” Dave repeats, voice dropping.

"Is that a problem?"

"No," Dave says. "God, no. Jesus Christ.” He reloads his gun. “Just, like, what the fuck, man? This is not something you drop on your brother while he's in the middle of assassinating a criminal billionaire in Morocco."

“You’re not my actual brother. You do know that right?”

Dave shakes his head. “Before you got promoted to your snooty tech job it was us against the world, man. Agent trainees with a license to kill—that was some bonding shit. Once brothers always brothers or whatever the fuck cliché bros-in-arms speech you want to pull out of a nearby ass—“

“On your right.”

A door is flung open from the end of the hallway and Dave fires his gun at the assailant with barely a blink away from the camera. On the video feed the body hits the floor with a thump Dirk doesn’t hear.

"Wow," Dave says in disbelief, apparently still hung up on the sudden revelation. "Just wow. I don’t believe it. You’re just so damn masculine. You’re just so…” He waves his hands around nondescriptly towards the security camera. “You.”

Dirk rubs his temples. "I promise I'll throw a coming out party when you get back here, Dave. You can even be the guest of honor since you seem to care so goddamn much.”

“I don’t have a problem with it, just. Holy shit,” Dave repeats, squinting at the camera as if to somehow assess Dirk on the other side. “I can't even process this right now."

"Yeah, well, sorry for ruining your mission with my mindblowing sexual preferences," Dirk grumbles. "Now will you hurry the fuck up? Extraction team is here in twenty and I do not want to be the one to tell them to leave your ass."


	4. Shocks and Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a few hours late. I had school stuff.

"So exactly how does an American land a career with the British government?" Jake inquires, smile wide and gleaming white in the gathering dusk.

The correct answer is teenagers who are caught hacking MI6 secrets and are offered either a job or a prison sentence.

"Irony," Dirk says instead.

Jake laughs. It's coarse and bellowing but somehow still sounds like perfection when it falls upon Dirk's ears. A few people around them cast irritated glances.

"Really now," Jake says, cheerful. He playfully shoves his date’s shoulder. "Tell me!"

They stumble a few steps forward as Dirk moves to dodge Jake's softhearted attack. The movie theater’s frighteningly long line ushers them only a fraction closer to their destination.

"Mom's Welsh," Dirk falsely elaborates. His date bounces at the tidbit of information.

"I see," Jake says. He really doesn't. "Moved here to be closer to family? That's quite admirable, chap."

"Sure, I guess." Dirk feels a weight start to press down on him but shakes it off. “Not that it matters at the moment. We're almost to the front of the line and you still haven't told me what film you want to see, English. And here I was thinking you to be a gentleman of fine cinema."

"I'm a man of all cinema."

"Right. Excuse me," he replies. There's a childish, teasing undertone to his voice. It's foreign. "Please choose our movie, Mr. Cinema."

Jake takes a quick glance at the ticket stand before looking back at Dirk with the devious grin of a man with an idea.

“Give me a number between one and five.”

Dirk blinks, confused.

"Give me a number between one and five," Jake says again, matter-of-factly.

“What?”

“There are five movies that start at 7:00. Give me a number.”

Dirk moves to turn his head to the marquee but Jake is quick to obnoxiously wave his hands, distracting him. “You can’t look! That’s cheating!”

“Alright, fine,” Dirk says, shifting to gaze intently at the parking lot.

"Well?"

“Four.”

“Oh, good choice.”

“Great. Can I look now?” His question is huffed at a small, yellow car.

“Nope.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“Because that’ll ruin the surprise, obviously!” Jake answers from somewhere in Dirk’s peripheral.

He sighs, “This surprise is significantly more drawn out than I was anticipating.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Jake grins, wrapping an arm around his waist. It's decievingly strong. Dirk tenses at the sudden affection.

“I don’t care for surprises.”

 

::::::::::

 

An echoing boom resounds across the Technology Branch. It's a split second of confusion before the panes of glass separating Dirk's supervisor office from the rest of the branch shatter. It’s a sickening crack like thunder after lightening, like the stretch of confusion between a gunshot and a bullet wound.

He instinctively ducks beneath his desk moments before thousands of glass shards rain down upon his office. Murky screams fill his ears—their terror muffled by the deafening blast.

"T-branch compromised," he yells into the radio hidden in his watch. He stumbles from his crouched position, his hand forced to find stability on the glass-covered floor. He doesn’t register the cuts in his panic. "Fuck— _fuck!_ T-branch compromised!"


	5. Win Something and Lose Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I'm sure you've all been waiting for:

 

"You're hurt," Jake murmurs. His hand comes out as if to cup Dirk's face but freezes in midair, unsure.

"Not bad. It could have been a lot worse." Dirk's voice is tired. He looks like shit adorned in butterfly stitches, actual stitches, and the grief of four dead employees. "It's okay. They don't sting anymore."

Jake's hand still hangs in a void of uncertainty, so Dirk nods his head towards it.

"I accidentally shattered my shower door," he explains. The weight on his chest strengthens but the palm running across his cheek feels like heaven. The intimate contact is alien to him, or at least long forgotten. It feels smooth. It feels safe. He cherishes it, longing for it to last but already bracing for it to end.

"You should be more careful," Jake chides. His tone sounds distant, lost in thought. "Your face is far too handsome to go about scratching up."

Dirk can hear the soft echo of Jake’s exhales in the silence that follows. There’s a tenseness in the air, but unlike the threats and gunpoints he’s used to this tenseness makes him want to lean forward and give all of himself to the boy he’s been on barely a handful of dates with.

Jake tilts his head up and his lips find Dirk’s with the gentlest of brushes. They both freeze in ambivalence, in inexperience, but then Jake pushes upwards and Dirk can’t decide if he’s giving up or giving in but whatever it is it feels wonderful pressed against his skin.

 

::::::::::

 

For once Jane is uncharacteristically quiet as she traces her fingers over Dirk's wounds. There's a stressful moment before she snips the threads of a few of Dirk's deeper cuts, and then the uncomfortable pull of skin as she removes the stitches.

“My condolences,” she says, voice stiff.

“Two of them were only interns.”

She snaps her scissors shut with greater force than necessary. They fail to cut the tension in the air.

“You’re not that heartless,” she states. “I know you’re not.”

Dirk stifles a cringe when she rubs disinfectant on the healing stripes of red. Even though a deep frown sits offended on her face, her hands are as deliberate and gentle as ever. They carry the sweetness Dirk was familiar with seeing when Jane was relaxed, a no-nonsense compassion she hadn't lost even after her considerable amount of time caring for dangerously impulsive agents.

Dirk smiles at her, fondly. 

“If you had my job, Jane. You’d want to be.”

 


	6. Expose and Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad some of you are picking up on the Skyfall influences. Spectre in November. (Get hype.)
> 
> Now for more Dave Strider as a dysfunctional 007.

 

 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Jake asks. He says it with an innocent conviction—like he’s in middle school, like the both of them are children.

“Yes,” Dirk breathes out regardless.

 

::::::::::

 

“What’s it like?” Dave mumbles, tone probing for answers to a question he’s too afraid to really ask. He’s seated on Dirk’s work desk, trying to make himself look busy. Dirk would like to kick him out but he learned long ago that leaving Dave unsupervised will only lead to Dave getting drunk, laid, or into trouble. Any of which could and would cause more work for Dirk in the long run.

So he lets Dave stay. He lets Dave mess around with gadgets and bullshit about his recent conquests; some material, most sexual. Dave’s profession didn’t let him keep many friends, so Dirk stuffs his not-brother’s emotional bankruptcy where he can.

“What’s it like,” Dave says again after Dirk continues to type at his computer, effectively ignoring him. “With your… guy.”

“My boyfriend,” Dirk states, not looking up from the screen.

“Yeah. That.”

Dirk finishes off a line of code before glancing up. “It’s nice,” he says. “Why?”

“You just seem, I dunno, happy, I guess.”

“I am,” Dirk replies.

Dave is uncharacteristically solemn. He stares past the boundaries of Dirk’s office overlooking a patched technology branch, the shattered glass panes of the walls yet to be replaced since the attack.

“Does he know?”

Dirk feels his body stiffen, his fingers curling over his keyboard. “That I work for MI6?”

“And all that entails.”

Dirk’s fingers snap onto his keys, leaving a long string of “ssssssss” across his monitor.

“Details aren’t needed.”

“So you haven’t told him then,” Dave responds. “Like, anything.”

“He doesn’t know I develop weapons for special operatives, no,” Dirk says, tone biting. “Or that I oversee and execute complex assassinations of threats to national security. Or about the skillset I possess that’s gotten me held at gunpoint in front of a computer more times than I remember. For some reason I’ve let all that slip my mind when trying to retain something close to normal relationship.”

Dave slinks away from him, shoulders hunching. “I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

Dirk clenches his teeth. “I’m not pissed off. Or stressed out. Or grieving. Or whatever psychological buzzwords you or anyone else wants to throw at me today. I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Dave says. “Alright, bro. Sorry.”

Dirk runs a hand through his hair, saving his work and shutting down his programs in favor of pulling up some music links Jake sent him to listen to.

“He’s sweet,” Dirk states, finally. “I like him a lot. That’s really all there is to say on the matter.”

 


	7. Invited In and Clocked Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy week anniversary of this fic! 
> 
> *Sniff.* It's been a week already? Seems like just a few days ago Dirk and Jake were having their first date...

 

“I had a positively lovely evening,” Jake says, clicking open the door of Dirk’s car and stepping out onto the curb in front of his flat.

Dirk gives him a casual wave from behind the steering wheel.

“Have a good night,” he says.

“Yeah,” Jake replies, large eyes staring distantly at him. “I mean, yeah, you too.”

“I will.”

“What?”

“I will have a good night.”

“Oh,” Jake says. “Right. Yeah. I wished you that. Sorry, head’s in an absolute conundrum right now.”

Dirk frowns. “Everything okay?”

Jake is still gripping the car door, his head weaving back and forth between Dirk and his apartment. He does so with a jarring sort of anxiousness. His body hums with indecision.

“Fuck it,” Jake says to the chilled night air, before shyly ducking down to face Dirk inside the car. “Would you like to stay the night?”

 

::::::::::

 

“Nice hickey.”

Roxy has a wicked grin plastered across her face as she walks into Dirk’s office.

“Thanks, my boyfriend gave it to me,” Dirk replies dryly, giving a subtle smile when Roxy laughs.

Roxy leans over to hand Dirk the morning announcements and the day’s work goals for Dirk to sign off on. Which he does, but not without noticing the flinch of pain she gives when she picks them back up again. Roxy had sternly refused to report her injuries from the attack to him, going insofar as to oversee the medical security reboot herself. He’d had the decency to not hack into them anyway, but seeing her in pain still cut something deep within him.

“Heads up, I’m taking a long weekend off this week,” Dirk tells her as she shuffles through her papers and readies the intercom system for morning announcements.

“You’re taking a holiday?” she asks, disbelief in her voice.

He nods. “Between nearly getting blown up and the fact that I almost bit Dave’s head off the other day, I think I’m in due need of one.”

“Aw, alright. We can totes handle things without you,” she confirms, “But only—“

“I’ll be on call.”

“—But ONLY,” she repeats, reaching down to activate the intercom. “If I can let everyone here know that Dirk Strider, of all people, got laid last night and is a shining hope to all the equally socially inept assholes working in this branch. So thanks for that, Dirk.”

“Roxy,” Dirk groans.

He hears his staff burst into mock applause outside his office, laughter and whoops seeping through the walls freshly repaired with new glass. He’d get mad but something tells him his team could use the morale boost, even if it's at his own expense.

“I’ll be back Tuesday,” he mutters.

“Sounds like a plan, man,” Roxy grins.

 


	8. Familiar Misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do British papers even have Sudoku problems? This American southern belle wants to know.
> 
> Also: I have a lot of homework this weekend. Chapters might be slightly delayed. I'm just going to play it by ear. Thanks for keep-on-keeping-on with me!

“Fuck,” Dirk whispers. “You’re sexy.”

Jake lets out a nervous giggle, letting a few fingers slip between his bowtie and shirt collar to tug lightly. It’s a simple-but-classic black suit, tailored close and shockingly understated considering what Dirk has come to know as Jake’s rather garish tastes.

“You want to know a secret?” Jake whispers, letting out another sheepish laugh.

“Do I look like I don’t want to know a secret?” Dirk says in lighthearted response.

Jake leans close, a large smile plastered on his face.

“My grandmother picked it out for me,” he says. “Several years ago. This is the first time I’ve worn it.” There is a small red tint threatening to spread past the tips of Jake’s ears but he seems to be handling it with humor. He pulls back with a rumple of stiff fabric, fingers straightening a cuff.

“Well it looks nice,” Dirk replies smoothly, a hand settling on his boyfriend’s waist. “And I think your grandma will be pleased to know you’re finally attending one of her charity galas.”

“With a date, no less,” Jake says, giving Dirk a wink and an endearingly odd click of his tongue. “All these new revelations just might be a little too much for the old woman’s heart.”

“Well maybe we better stay in then. I don’t want any dead grandmas on my track record.” Dirk presses a soft kiss to Jake’s temple, mouth hovering over the flushed skin. Jake shrugs away from the affection.

“No!” Jake laughs. “Don’t even suggest it. You’re already tempting enough as it is!”

“You think I’m tempting?” Dirk asks. An exaggerated handsome grin strikes across his face.

“Compared to dull events like these, you’re the devil incarnate,” Jake confirms.

“They can’t be that bad.”

“I’m telling you, it’s all quite trite. None of the attendees ever really care about any of my grandma’s projects—they just like to throw money around for the sake of it! Not to mention it’s impossibly stuffy no matter what ballroom she hosts it in—and don’t get my goat even close to going about the masses that stampede the buffet tables—“

Dirk smiles. “We’ll be in familiar misery then.”

“I suppose,” Jake says. “I’m not one for crowds.”

“What a coincidence Mr. English,” Dirk returns, looping his arm in Jake’s own. “Neither am I.”

 

::::::::::

 

“How do you do it?” Dave questions off hand. They’re seated at an outdoor café, Dave nursing a coffee and looking frighteningly hungover.

“Do what?” Dirk responds, only half-listening. He’s looking over the paper, doing the daily Sudoku puzzle in his head. Sunday lunches had always been a comforting constant in both their otherwise hectic lives, and they tried not to break the tradition as much as possible.

“Go stable, I guess, with, uh—“

Dirk rolls his eyes, turning the page over to start on the crossword. “Just because you’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than ten minutes in an airport bathroom doesn’t mean you have an aversion to the word ‘boyfriend.’”

 _“Ten minutes,”_ Dave scoffs, voice offended at the obvious dig.

“What? Am I overestimating your abilities again?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dave quips back, poorly. “You’re such a snarky bastard. How did you even find someone to put up with you?”

Dirk frowns. The paper in his hands crinkles.

“Maybe I act different around him,” he says, suddenly terse. “Did you think of that?”

“So you’re lying.”

“Maybe I’m acting closer to how I would act if I wasn’t busy keeping you from blowing yourself up.”

Dirk watches Dave’s face scrunch up behind his aviators. He sees the cogs in his brain turning—searching for a comeback that’s not there.

“I just asked what it’s like being, y’know, semi-serious with someone,” Dave responds after a stretch of silence and a few frustrated sips of his coffee. “A ‘boyfriend,’ I guess.”

“It doesn’t count if you do those stupid airquotes.”

“Just answer the question!”

“Why do you care?” Dirk huffs. “It’s not like you’re ever going to settle down.”

“You don’t know that,” Dave says. He mutters the words from around the edge of his mug, sounding suspiciously like a child.

“Dave, I know you better than anyone.”


	9. Stitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter because I took the weekend off! Enjoy Dirk dealing with emotions that previously unhindered him!
> 
> Also y'all and your Jake conspiracy theories are adorable. Don't rule out anything yet. He could still be a reptilian shape-shifter.

Dirk can’t remember the last time he’s had someone in his apartment.

It’s strange seeing someone foreign sitting on his chairs, eating dinner at his table, sprawling out on his couch. It’s strange to be intimate with someone. It’s new and awkward and more than a little exciting. Dirk doesn’t know what he’s doing—hasn’t been trained for this—but he’s applying the tried and true methodology of instinct and whatever makes his chest feel the warmest.

When it gets dark Jake smiles sheepishly at him. He thanks him for a wonderful day, chatters about Dirk’s cooking, rambles about the fact that he was scared for a second Dirk was some sort of hoarder—not that he had a problem with Dirk being hesitant about inviting him over! It was really Dirk’s business anyway and he was happy with their mutual pace-setting thing they had going—slow and steady wins the race as his grandmother would always say, haha—

Dirk kisses him. Soft and sweet. Like he's seen in movies. In comics. In teenagers he rolls his eyes at when he walks down the street. In love.

“Stay the night?” he asks.

“Oh bloody hell yes.”

 

::::::::::

 

“I have a problem,” Dirk blurts out. A nurse catches his arm just as he swings open the door, her expression begging him to return to the waiting room he so uncaringly barged past.

“Then make an appointment,” Jane replies coolly. She’s seated at a desk in her primary examination room, a place Dirk has been stitched up within on numerous occasions. The bright lights and sterile stench brings an uncomfortable familiarity.

“You’ve had boyfriends, right?” Dirk continues, ignoring the woman tugging on his shoulder.

“ _Sir_ ,” the nurse pleads.

Jane snorts. “Yes, Dirk. I’ve had boyfriends.” She gives a subtle wave towards the nurse. Her manner is as calm as ever, but she almost seems a little amused. “It’s alright. He can stay until my next schedule block.”

Dirk watches indifferently as the woman retreats back to the waiting room with puffed cheeks.

“Now,” Jane says. She motions towards the examination table. “Sit.”

He settles down on the table like he’s managed to get himself nearly killed again. The few healing scars on his arms make him cringe in remembrance. His experience in Jane’s office was not extensive but still unpleasant. He shifts uncomfortably on the cushioned seat. The sanitary paper crinkles beneath him.

“So,” Jane hums. “What’s the emergency and why does it carry the connotation of boyfriends?”

“I have one,” Dirk says.

“So I’ve heard.” Jane seems preoccupied with papers scattered in front of her, but her tone seems genuine enough.

“Goddamn _Roxy_ —“

“What’s the problem,” Jane repeats. She slides a paper into an outbox on her left.

“I like him.”

“That’s not unusual for romantic partners. I’d be more concerned if it was the opposite.”

Dirk groans. “You don’t get it. I really like him.”

“And?”

“And what do I do now?”

“You’re asking me?”

Dirk sits back in agitation, causing the paper to crinkle further. “What do I do,” he repeats, slowly. “Between ‘official’ but before ‘I love you.’”

He sees Jane’s face curl as if she’s stifling an emotion. He bites his lip. “And after sex,” he elaborates. “Fuck, I know. I know. We went out of order—“

Jane’s shoulders shake a bit, and a giggle bubbles up from her lips. “ _Dirk_ ,” she laughs out, coating his name like a toddler. “I think you’re looking at the process a little too concretely, dear.”

“How am I supposed to look at it then?” Dirk says, exasperated. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Jane. And it’s fucking embarrassing that literally the only person I know who’s stolen any metaphorical romantic base is my doctor.”

“I can be your friend, you know,” she comments.

“Alright fine. As my friend, what should I do?”

“Whatever feels the jauntiest to you, I suppose,” she says casually, dropping another paper into her outbox.

“God damn. Mind blown. You want to write me a prescription for that jauntiness, doc? Sounds like I could use some.” His sarcasm drips out accidentally. He’s not used to being so openly agitated. So openly confused. He doesn't like asking for advice. He doesn’t like the feeling of not being in control.

“You’re an ass,” she retorts. “If you love him, tell him. If you don’t, kick him to the curb. If you’re not sure, stick around until you figure it out.”

Dirk stares at her flatly.

“What? Would you like a flowchart with that?” she asks.

“While this has been positively enlightening, Jane—“

The door to the room slides open with a sweeping sound. Both Dirk and Jane’s gaze snaps to the entrance of the office. A man stands comfortably in the doorway, his red T-shirt denoting his day off.

“Howdy,” Dave says into the sudden silence, eyes finding Dirk’s.

“Your eleven o’ clock is early, Doctor.” The nurse from before attempts to vocalize from behind Dave’s shoulder. She’s a bit frantic, fluttering in the hallway with uncertainty. Clearly Dave has no patience for waiting rooms either.

“Dave,” Dirk greets.

“Dirk,” Dave replies.

Jane sighs, roughly shuffling her papers together and returning them to her inbox. She stands, hands on her hips in an intimidating posture, and glares at both of them. “For god’s sake do you two just barge into any dwelling that you feel deserves your presence? The manners and the nerve of both of you!”

“At least I’m not here for another STD panel,” Dirk quips.

Dave pulls down the collar of his T-shirt, revealing the tightly wrapped bandages covering the skin of his shoulder. “I got shot last week, asshole.”

Dirk has not forgotten. Nor has he forgotten the helplessness of watching blood stain his brother’s suit on a high resolution monitor.

“After you endangered your mission to bang that sketchy chick,” he says instead, knowingly provoking Dave.

“You don’t know that.”

“You left your goddamn earpiece on, Dave.”

“Well you’re one to talk endangering things when you’re with your—with your 'guy'—“

“What has that got to do with _anything_ —”

“I think this is all quite enough,” Jane interrupts. She makes a scooting motion at Dirk, prompting him off the table. “Dirk, dear, I would love to continue this conversation another time. Dinner, maybe. But I have a schedule to maintain, and an infection in your brother’s shoulder to avoid.”

Dave frowns. “Thanks, Jane,” he murmurs.

Dirk slips out of the room in a huff of silence.


	10. Admittance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are SO CLOSE to having all this pesky I love you business out of the way. Then we'll get back to conflicts.

 

Dirk can’t remember the last time he’s had someone in his bedroom.

Jake English lying half-naked and disheveled in his bed is an excellent way to reintroduce the concept, however.

Jake begs to be touched with his expressions. His words can only form Dirk’s name. His arms cling to Dirk’s neck like he’s going to sink into the sheets, and painfully Dirk realizes Jake’s the only other person to ever touch them.

“I love you,” Jake gasps out, and Dirk sees stars.

 

::::::::::

 

“I love him,” Dirk whispers.

“Holy shit,” Roxy replies.

“I know.”

“Dirk. Holy shit.”

“Trust me. I know.”


	11. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this fic as a daily warm-up for my original stuff so it has a focus on brevity and loosly connected, emotionally charged scenes. That being said, I think we're far enough along in Dirk and Jake's relationship that I feel comfortable answering some questions about the extended AU/characters or otherwise anything else that might have been glazed over so far in the fic.
> 
> I was going to make this World-building Wednesday, but it's pretty late. So we can have World-building Week instead. If you've got a question, ramble, or whim for me feel free to post it in the chapter comments below, or shoot me an ask over on [Tumblr](http://dirkar.tumblr.com/ask).

“I love you,” Dirk states, swallowing down his apprehensions.

It’s the first time the words have ever left his mouth.

He’s standing at the foot of his own bed, dressed for work with a coffee already in hand. The morning sun is stretched well past his window, highlighting his sheets with the striped glow of his blinds. He’s running late. If things go badly, he has the perfect excuse to run.

“Neat,” Jake smiles, rubbing his eyes sleepily and gazing up at Dirk without removing his chin from its comfortable spot on his pillow. His grin is lazy and content. “I love you too.”

 

::::::::::

 

TG: hey call me when you get the chance

TG: please

TG: dude i know ive been grilling you about your relationship and im sorry

TG: i dont know whats been going in with me lately

TG: its like

TG: idk im fuckin losing it over here

TG: jane sent me to fucking psych

TG: motherfucking psych

TG: they were all like this is typical behavior for someone in your profession

TG: no shit sherlocks i assassinate people for a living

TG: i mean goddamn let me just call up 221b and move yall up in there

TG: a nice cozy place so you can all suck each other off in congrats for your continuous mindblowing breakthroughs in the cutting edge field of psychology

TG: sorry is that like a gay thing

TG: should i not have said that shit idk it feel like im walking on eggshells since you got that goddamn boytoy

TG: here i am spending my entire career bragging to you about every lady ive banged from here to hong kong

TG: and new york and monaco and even motherfucking vancouver

TG: you get the point

TG: but i never even once asked you if you were in a relationship

TG: not even who you were into

TG: i mean i had to hear from fucking roxy that you were even dating someone

TG: who was a guy

TG: and i guess i just realized

TG: like right this second

TG: that im angry

TG: at myself

TG: because i always thought you cared

TG: that you thought it was cool that i was out slaying it

TG: and that was like our bro thing you know?

TG: because i thought you were straight and you were like right on man keep working the ladies and stuff

TG: maybe even that you were jealous because i was getting so much while you were a fucking nerd

TG: but thats a whole lot of self projected bullshit i realize now

TG: because youve got a boyfriend and its serious and you dont have any reason to be jealous of my sloppy one night stands with women i cant even speak the same language of

TG: holy shit

TG: wait

TG: am i jealous??

 


	12. Blur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back.

GT: Heya charmer!  
GT: Ill be by around 7. Is that okay?  
TT: Yeah.  
GT: Aces!  
GT: And are you SURE sure youre gonna be okay with my butterfingers driving us again. I know you almost had a heart attack last time.  
TT: It's fine, I promise.  
GT: How fine are we talking about here? Like chipperdipper fine? Or clutching the seatbelt and saying everything through gritted teeth fine?  
TT: 100% antique, priceless, imported from exotic country fine.  
TT: So fine it got snatched from it's heavily cushioned shipping container by a notorious art thief.  
TT: Shit is so fine it's nothing but sawdust.  
GT: Hehe. Youre such an odd duck.  
TT: Sorry.  
GT: Dont be chum. I just found it strange that you had never ridden in someone elses car before!  
GT: Youre so awfully independent. I hate to admit im jealous.  
TT: Don't say that. It's not all it's cracked up to be.  
GT: Better than living off your grandmas estate money.  
TT: Hey, don't talk shit. Your grandma is a cool lady.  
GT: I just think it would be nice to be totally on my own! Maybe even reclusive and mysterious.  
GT: Aloof! That's the phrase I was spinning the old brain cogs for. Aloof. Like you.  
TT: Yeah. I guess.  
TT: Doors open at 8. Do you want to go to dinner and miss the opening act or just head there?

 

::::::::::

 

Dirk feels a prickle on his neck. A tenseness that shoots through his bloodstream like a drug. It's a familiar feeling--though that was hardly comforting given his occupation--and as the room falls silent he allows himself to seep back into the agent training he had far from forgotten. Every sense heightens. He becomes hyperaware of every sound he makes. Along with every sound he doesn't.

There's a muffled shuffle from the further interior of his apartment. Dirk lets the coat he was in the process of slipping on his shoulders drop to the floor. He swallows, wondering briefly if his paranoia would be the end of him some day, but decides not to be stupid. Better safe than sorry, to use a suitable ironic cliche. It should be an unconscious choice by now, but the ego-driven dumbass that got arrested by MI6 had a habit of manifesting himself at the worst moments.  
He slips out his phone.

TT: Operator.  
EB: oh! hello, dirk!  
TT: Orange.  
EB: what? like your text color?  
EB: wait shit. isnt that code for something??  
TT: Yes, John.  
EB: hang on let me pull out the guide.  
TT: Orange. I have reasonable suspicion I'm being watched.  
EB: riiiiiiiight. thanks, man.  
TT: John. That wasn't an explanation. I'm telling you I'm at orange.  
EB: oh.  
TT: God, why did we employ the color system if nobody bothered to fuckin' learn it?  
EB: oh shit. like, for real?  
TT: Yes. I think someone's in my apartment.  
EB: wow. ok. fuck, what should i do?  
TT: For fuck's sake.   
EB: i can see you judging me through your phone and i'm here to tell you to stop.  
TT: Just do your damn job and start making calls.  
EB: you see? this is why no one likes you.  
TT: You're head of communications, John. Jesus.  
EB: INTERNAL communications. i’m mostly just supposed to answer roses calls and tell resources when a department is low on printer ink! monitoring espionage is your scene.  
TT: Well then INTERNALLY make Rose aware of my suspicions.   
TT: Prepare a potential extraction team.   
TT: File an incident report.   
TT: And if you have time between ordering printer inks, tell Roxy there might have been a leak in the employee database.  
TT: I'm sending you my coordinates now.  
EB: right. yeah. gotcha.  
EB: i can do that.  
TT: I'm going to check things out. If I don't text you in five assume I'm dead or incapacitated.  
EB: ok.  
EB: i mean, don’t die but  
EB: i got it!  
EB: i can do this!  
EB: i can definitely handle everything you just said!  
EB: you’re not looking at your phone anymore are you.  
EB: damn it.

Dirk tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He shrugs up the sleeves of his shirt, stepping slowly on the light pine of his hardwoods towards his bedroom. It's strange for such a bright and open apartment to have all the safety it once provided stripped away with the slightest sound of a shuffle, but nothing was stable in the world of military intelligence.

The wall of his hallway granted him access to a sleek sword--decorative to any who glanced at it but a deadly weapon in a pinch for him. He pulls it from its decorative sheath, and presses onward.

His apartment is small, but suitable enough for him. One bedroom and one and a half baths granted few hiding places for prospective assassins. As he opens the door of his room, his heartbeat is as loud in his ears as when he first kissed Jake. He blinks. It was strange to be thinking of Jake at a time like this. When every sense was paranoid and hypersensitive. The idea was soothing, though. He’d never felt the necessity to have a grounding thought in tense situations but maybe Jake could be his.

The door reveals nothing but his unmade bed and a few piles of laundry--nothing out of the ordinary. He allows himself a shallow breath. It’s the first in over a minute.

“Drop the glorified souvenir or yer dead, kid.”

A gun cocks and Dirk stills. His pupils strain against the far edge of his eyes, begging to see his sudden assailant without craning his neck. Note to self: when performing search for a potential threat, check the hall bathroom first. 

“I highly doubt you’ll kill me,” he says to the empty bedroom in front of him. He relaxes his posture to gaze at the ceiling, hoping his nonplussed expression unsettles whoever was threatening him from behind.

“I said drop it.”

The katana collides with the floor with a light, cheap-sounding thunk. 

Dirk slips a smirk into his voice. “Really. If your boss went through such effort to find me, I highly doubt they’ll want me hurt. I know we just met but I’d hate for anything to happen to you.” 

The ceiling is a textured drywall. It’s a stark white, and frankly a little ugly. Dirk first took notice of it after sleeping with Jake the first time, his post-coital mind making happy shapes in the rough surface.

“Turn around. And don’t try anything, champ. You hear?”

Dirk does not like being in the dark, and willingly spins himself towards his attacker. When he finally faces the hulking assailant he takes a mental snapshot of the man’s features. By the time the Brute has pressed the gun to his forehead he has over half of his employee incident report composed.

“You got a phone?”

“Actually, no.”

“That’s a load of bologna.”

Dirk shrugs at him. “I refuse to let myself get caught up in the triviality of the digital age.”

“Don’t give me that, you hipster punk. Hand it over.”

“‘Hipster punk,’” Dirk scoffs.

“I’ll shoot yer smug face off.”

“Non-lethally,” Dirk corrects.

“Sure. Non-lethally,” he says. “You ever been shot non-lethally, kid? Doesn’t feel too pretty.”

The gun is shoved bluntly against Dirk’s head, knocking him back a few steps. He glances upwards, as if observing the quickly forming bruise, and lets out an irritated sigh.

“Now,” the Brute demands.

Dirk thrusts his hand into his pocket and pulls out his self-customized Iphone.

“Drop it.”

Dirk leans down to set it on the ground. The Brute’s glares go unnoticed by him as he stands up and gently taps the phone with the tip of his sneaker until it finds itself a considerable amount of distance away. He drags out the process as long as possible.

“What? Shit’s expensive,” he says.

The Brute’s lip curls. He makes a guttural, unsettling noise in his throat that cues Dirk to slip a smile. Dirk is still well on edge, but patience had long been the one and only virtue he trusted. 

“You cocky little prick,” his assailant spits. “You don’t know what’s coming to you, brat. But yer well deserving of it.”

The gun is lowered to Dirk’s shoulder, and Dirk watches his chances of both survival and escape spike in his mind.

“You employers won’t be too happy if I can’t type,” Dirk notes causally.

“I’ll shoot you in the damn shoulder if I want to shoot you in the damn shoulder, you--”

Dirk’s body moves on instinct. The palm of his hand collides with the Brute’s forearm, shoving the threat of the gun to the expanse of wall over his shoulder. His other hand finds leverage behind the Brute’s wrist. He shoves all of his weight against the forearm--holding firm on the Brute’s hand until he feels the bone snap. 

His would-be attacker screams in pain. Dirk drops his grip to let him stumble back and cripple to the floor. The gun falls to the carpet and Dirk promptly kicks it across the room in favor of picking up his fallen sword.

“Send me a rain check,” he says. “Or I can just kill you. That works too.”

The point of his katana is slung down to the Brute’s neck, resting against his visually pumping pulse point. 

“Jiminy Christmas, kid,” the Brute coughs out, cradling his snapped forearm.

“Tell me who you’re working for.” 

Dirk’s voice has gone cold. A frigid indifference that is slowly realized by the man beneath him.

“I’m freelance--”

Dirk’s grip tightens. “Give me a description.”

“Fuck! Ease up on the blade, would you, champ?” the Brute says. He attempts to crane his head away but Dirk’s sword follows him. “They never gave a name--My crew was contacted privately--”

“So you’re telling me you’ve got nothing, then,” Dirk replies, voice sharp. “Nothing worth keeping your head on your shoulders for.”

The Brute looks close to panicked.

“Oh, Jesus. I think it was a lady--just by the way she typed--that’s it I swear--”

Dirk snarls. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t decapitate you right here and now--”

From the front of the apartment, a doorbell rings.

A silence stretches between both Dirk and the man about to have his head sliced clean off his shoulders.

“Fuck,” Dirk whispers. " _Jake._ "

He withdraws his blade from the man’s neck--who gives a hulking breath of relief in response--and lets out an irritated groan.

“Fuck,” Dirk says again. Staring down at the Brute. “Fucking hell. Stand still.”

The handle of his sword collides with the man’s head, who gives a rough grunt in response but seems otherwise unaffected.

“Dammit, go unconscious,” Dirk huffs.

“It takes more than that--”

Dirk tries again, and this time the blunt force of the blow surely combined with the pain in the Brute’s arm makes the assailant's eyes unfocus. One more hit and his body goes lax, and Dirk steps away to take his first real breath since the situation began.

The doorbell rings once more.

Dirk grabs his phone and snaps a quick picture of the man’s bruised face before rushing back to the entryway to grab his jacket.

"Hi!" Jake chimes when Dirk opens the front door.

"Hey," Dirk replies with a smile. He's a little out of breath but Jake doesn't seem to notice. "Would you give me a minute before we head out? I need to text a coworker." 

EB: backup en route. estimated arrival: like, three minutes maybe?  
\-- [TT] sent file asshole.jpeg --  
TT: This motherfucker is currently unconscious on my bedroom floor.  
TT: Take care of it for me.  
EB: none of this is even remotely in my job description but sure! why not!  
TT: Not the time, John.  
EB: sorry. yeah. i’m just glad you’re not dead or something.  
EB: speaking of m wants to know your status.  
TT: Green.  
EB: um.  
TT: I’m fine. Green is literally the universal color for “I’m chill,” John. This should not be that hard.  
EB: sorry!  
EB: okay m says to stay where you are. we’ll have people to you soon.  
TT: I can’t do that.  
EB: what?  
TT: Tell Rose I can’t do that. I have plans.  
EB: what the hell are you talking about?  
TT: Just worry about the body in my apartment, John.   
TT: I have a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Attempted action scenes and midterm essays do not mix. But such marks the first time Jake is physically present in the second part of a chapter. Plot!
> 
> I've thought long and hard about how I want this fic to continue (because if you've been following my chapter titles you'll know I have no idea how to carry a longterm format) and for the time being some chapters might be longer, like this, in order to get a bit more of the plot across. 
> 
> So every other day is now the tentative update schedule. Whoops.


	13. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not an April fools joke. Literally back in action. Thanks based hussie for those recent upd8s.

 

“Moving?” Jake echoes. It sounds hollow. The bite of banana split on his stalled spoon slides back into the dish. The ice cream parlor they’ve settled upon is a bit aged, but Jake had recommended it as the bestest most happening shebang in a fifty mile radius. 

“Yes,” Dirk says. “Not very far. Just closer to my office.”

Jake makes no attempt to hide his frown as he stuffs the previously lost bite of ice cream into his mouth. He asked for triple hot fudge, so he spoons up more oversweet chocolate than anything else. 

“But I liked your flat,” he says.

“Yeah, well, so did my landlady. That’s why she hiked the rent.” 

It should concern Dirk how painfully efficient he is at lying.

“Do you need help moving?” Jake asks.

“Job’s covering it.”

“Do you need a place to stay until you get settled?”

“A friend loaned me her couch.”

Jake bites his bottom lip. His front teeth are large but Dirk only seems to notice them during times of endearment.

“What,” Dirk questions. He can tell Jake is lost in thought. His gaze blindly picks at his boyfriend's unreadable expression.

“You…” Jake starts.

“What?”

“You could have asked me. You know, for a place to stay,” he says. Dirk’s face must visibly pale because Jake's speech immediately picks up.  “I know we haven’t been dating quite long enough to warrant even considering shacking up together for the winter or what have you, but--I don’t know--a couple days would be right jolly together, even a trial run of sorts--” 

“I can’t move in with you, Jake.” 

It falls out of Dirk’s mouth before he can stop it. It’s blunt, and exactly what he wanted to say, but far from laced with tact.

“I mean.” _Backtrack backtrack._ “I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Even for a little while. It's...” _Dangerous for everyone involved._ "Intimidating, for me."

“Oh,” Jake replies. He shoves another spoonful of chocolate syrup in his mouth and forces a smile. “Nevermind then.”

 

 

::::::::::

 

 

“Dirk, you're a valuable asset to MI6.”

The words have lost their charm over the years but don’t go unnoted. 

“I'm aware.”

Rose sits at her desk with clasped hands. She’s always had a sharp, analytical blade at the edge of her gaze no matter how casual the circumstances. She smiles at Dirk with dark-painted lips. He chooses to ignore it and instead gaze over her shoulder at the view--her office had a nice overlook of the London skyline.

“I just want to reemphasize that we, as a government body functioning above the law, will do anything in our power to protect you,” Rose states. She has a graveness about her voice. Like the oldest of her many, many cats has just died.

“Only because you're scared shitless of what would happen if I wasn't on your side,” Dirk slices back.

Rose lets loose a wider grin. “We would make do if that were the case. But I prefer to be in more direct control of my shit.”

“Classy as ever, Rose.”

“Undoubtedly.”

A silence falls between them. Dirk doesn’t want to be here. Roxy was currently trying to pinpoint the leak in the employee database security system. Dave was no doubt beating information and the everloving shit out of the hegemonic brute who attacked him. This isn’t where Dirk could be most useful at the moment. He has a feeling Rose knows it too.

“I trust you, Dirk,” she says. Short and simple.

“Mhm.”

“I'm serious. This day and age I can't say that of many.”

“Thank you, then. I guess.”

Rose does not blink.

“What is it?” Dirk says.

“A small inquiry.”

“Shoot.”

Rose purses her lips. “I have bases to cover, Dirk. It would be understandable if it were the case, so I don't want you to feel accused about this.”

“But,” Dirk finishes, tone a tad mocking.

“ _ But _ _,_ ” she parrots back at him. “I need to hear from you, personally, that there has been no human error on the confidentiality of your living quarters.”

Another heavy silence weighs down like a damp sheet, innocently threatening to smother him.

“No,” he says. "Of course not."

Rose makes a mark on the paper in front of her. It bothers him that he can’t control what it says.

"Could your location have been leaked through your phone?”

“No fucking way. I've got that shit on customized lockdown.”

“Have you ordered any packages directly to your door? Received any letters? Pizza deliveries?"

“No.”

Rose hesitates. "Have you had any friends over?" she asks.

“Me? Friends? Rose, look who you're talking to.”

"What about..." She pauses. "Girls."

Dirk lets out a sharp laugh through his nose. Rose folds her fingers in front of her on her desk. She cocks an eyebrow.

"Boys, then?"

Dirk’s heart rate jumps a few beats before he can wrestle it back under his stoic front.

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” he huffs.

“Well, I suppose that's subjective.” Rose gives a faint laugh, gesturing with a light, manicured hand towards his pointed shades.

"No, Rose. I haven't had any guys 'over.' You really think I'd be so careless?"

"This isn't a stern, maternal warning to use a condom, Dirk. If there was indeed a leak in our security system our entire intelligence infrastructure could be at risk."

Dirk feels his mouth tighten. "You can trust me," he says. "And rest assured my department is working on tracing the leak as we speak."

She sighs. Her shoulders sag a little--the closest Dirk has ever seen her to relaxed.

"Good. Make sure we tie up all ends to this."

Dirk nods, sliding from his seat.

"Of course, Mum."

"Don't call me that."

"Fine, Rose."

"M. My title is M."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liar, liar. Poofy asshole pants on fire.


	14. I gave up on a coherent chapter naming system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (owo ) what's this?

GT: Heya slugger! Hows the new apartment?   
TT: Fine. A bit smaller than my other one, but my work threw in a moving subsidy so I’m not complaining.   
GT: Not to be overtly salacious at eleven o clock in the morning on a wednesday but do you want to get together tonight and break in the place?   
TT: Ah. As much as these barren walls desperately need an English shoved against them, I’m afraid the open floorplan is currently being disrupted by a disproportionate amount of my unpacked shit. Rain check?   
GT: Still? After two weeks?   
TT: Yeah.    
TT: Listen, I’m known for my efficiency. Not my organization.   
GT: My offer still stands to help you unpack!   
TT: No, no. I’m good. I’ve got it.   
GT: Self-sufficient as always i see! Truly a starring example of the american independent.   
TT: On the money, English. You want to catch a movie instead?   
GT: Im tired of movie dates.   
TT: Oh. Sorry, I guess there’s been a lot recently, huh?    
GT: No no im sorry i didnt mean to be terse about it.   
TT: Don’t sweat it. How about this: after work I come over to your place, with the most romantic take-out that can be ordered online, and we find something new to do.   
GT: Haha alright lad! I suppose relationships are weighed in their ability to keep things fresh.   
TT: Like sushi chefs.   
GT: Sure love. Like sushi chefs. <3 

 

::::::::::

 

“You slept with him, didn't you.”

The office is dimmed so Dirk can focus on his screen, but Dave does not settle on the familiar edge of his desk to ramble. Instead he closes the office door behind him and stands with squared shoulders. Dirk gets a brief flash of Dave as the government agent trained in the nastier side of interrogation and threats. 

He does not take to the intimidation. 

“Hm?” he says, glancing up from his screen to stare passively at Dave.

“Your boyfriend.”

“Still on this, are we?”

Dave steps closer. “You slept with him, Dirk.”

“What's that your business.”

Dave sighs. He stares at where the blinds to the office are closed. Whatever he’s insinuating, it’s a private accusation. 

“You've invited him over. Given him your address,” Dave says. “I know you have. I sleep around too, Dirk, but you can’t—you can’t do that.”

Dirk’s gaze flares to a glare. “I’m not sleeping around. We’re serious.”

“That’s the problem,” Dave says, frustrated. “Rose might not have caught wind of your fling, but don't think for a second that I don't know what you're hiding.”

It’s a threat if Dirk’s ever heard one. 

“It's not really an agent's place to accuse their supervisors of skewing facts,” he says. Cold and dark and empty, like a computer. Dave almost flinches. Draws back from his accusations. 

“He's been to your apartment,” he states instead. 

“Roxy and I are overseeing the security overhaul personally. We had a system breach, my address was leaked.”

“Bullshit.”

Dirk breaks. “So you're going to accuse my civilian boyfriend of trying to _murder me_ just because you're jealous we're fucking?”

Dave reels.

“Dirk. I realize you’ve got your head shoved up what I’m sure is the immaculate ass of true love, but you’re rational. I know you are. And we haven’t had a fucking whisper of a problem with employee safety until—“

“I was _literally_ kidnapped the day before I had my first date with him,” Dirk says. 

Dave’s mouth contorted. “That’s irrelevant.”

“You honestly think Jake snitched on me.”

“Yes.”

“Jake. The man who thinks I fix government Wi-Fi modems for a living.”

Dave swallows. “Yes.”

“To who, exactly? He doesn't strike me as a mindless Crocker follower, much less a member of the Scratch Mafia—“

“You built that security system from the ground up, Dirk,” Dave says. “I'd trust it with my own neck.”

Dirk laughs, dismissive, and turns back at his screen. “There could always be someone better than me. This time there was.”

“Bullshit, Dirk.”

“Technology is a constant progress, Dave,” Dirk says. Eyes staring at his monitor but unfocused. “You have to keep up or someone’s going to hack your system, swipe your address, and attempt to shove you into a burlap sack on the orders of some nameless criminal.”

“Bull _shit._ ”

“Shut the fuck up, Dave,” Dirk snaps. “You're just pissed because seeing me happy makes you realize you're fucking miserable.”

Silence.

“I thought for a second…” Dave says. It trails weakly. “Just a second. When John messaged me for backup when you were attacked. It was the shittiest second.”

“Well it didn't happen.”

“I would have shattered, Dirk.”

“No you wouldn't have.”

“I would. At any given time I'm a stress fracture away from breaking. Losing you would be a wrecking ball straight to my mental stability. Naked Miley Cyrus and everything.”

“You shouldn't be so emotionally dependent on me,” Dirk says. He gives a sigh and rubs at his forehead. The edges of a migraine slink against his skull. “It’s not healthy.”

“But I am,” Dave says. “Who the fuck else could I ever have ironic Sunday brunch with? I've got all my emotional chickens in your basket. Their eggs are, like, shoved up your ass. If you die there's not going to be any natural bodyheat to incubate them. And then what, Dirk? What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“I'm going to pretend that metaphor didn't just come out of your mouth,” Dirk replies. 

"Dirk," he says. He puts a hand on the desk and leans close. Too close for Dirk’s personal space. "I can not lose you."

"You won't," Dirk says.

Dave stays perfectly still as the silence stretches on.

"Dave," Dirk says. He looks up at his brother, finally. "Trust me."

“ _Dirk!_ ” The office door flies open in a harsh slice of florescent light and there’s a slight noise as a haphazard Roxy jumps at Dave’s presence.

“Agent,” she says, nodding. Dave nods back, pulling away from Dirk. Her attention snaps quickly back to Dirk.

“Roxy—” Dirk starts.

“We found the breach,” she rushes out. She’s taps the tip of her sneaker against the floor of his office with impatient ticks. “I—I noticed there was a weak spot in the tax databases. Damn civilian systems. I’ve got Sollux patching it as we speak, Karkat’s purging any infected servers—god knows he’s bloody good at it—and I’m about to head back to lead a futureproofing team but we could—“ she takes a deep, settling breath. “We could use your help, man.” 

Dave has gone pale. Dirk stands. He only casts his brother a single, searing glance.

“I have to go now,” Dirk says.

Dave looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it and closes his mouth. He shrugs away. “Yeah,” he says, defeated. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m going to… I’ve got to see Jane.” 

He takes a few awkward steps away. “Roxy,” he says, nodding again at her.

“See ya, Dave,” she says, a bit confused as he departs. When the door closes she looks back at Dirk. “Everything okay with you two?”

“Sibling tiff,” Dirk says. She laughs and it soothes his nerves. “Come on. We’ve got a breach to solve.” 

 

It’s not until nearly two in the morning—the majority his staff long departed and Roxy dozing in the employee lounge after a job well done—that he closes his office door again.  
He stares into the empty room with freshly repaired glass and finally, finally, allows himself a breath of relief.

He pulls out his phone.

TT: Hey. Sorry I had to cancel tonight.   
TT: You want to come over to my new place tomorrow?   
TT: I’ll order sushi.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy.

Dirk has met the elusive Grandma English, unofficially, twice before. 

Once, at the first of her infamous charity galas Jake dragged him along to. She was older but immaculately dressed, the elegant braid of her silver hair swooshing around the waist of a diamond-studded black dress. She had spent the evening parading around the main hall of her lavish estate, shaking hands with guests and chatting with old colleagues. When Dirk noticed she had a moment to spare he had started anxiously towards her to introduce himself. Before he could make it two tiles across the black and white checkered floor, however, Jake had tugged his arm back towards a private corner away from the main bustle of guests.

“I’ve never taken a boy home,” he confessed softly, voice tainted with a hint of fear. Dirk could feel the radiating chill of his boyfriend’s sudden cold feet. “Maybe this isn’t the time or place... Surely you understand.”

Dirk has never really had a family to potentially disappoint, but he gave a sympathetic nod to Jake anyway.

The second time was far more intimate and subsequently far more awkward. Jake had received an abrupt call from old Ms. English at the crack of dawn—prompting him to excitedly skyrocket from his position in bed to shuffle on last night’s clothes and run out the door like the instigators of past one night stands Dirk was starting to forget.

“Impromptu vacation!” Jake had yelled when he raced down the apartment steps. As if that was any sort of excuse that could go unelaborated upon. From the front door Dirk saw a hired driver parked next to the curb—in a goddamn _Tesla_ —and when his boyfriend opened the back door he caught a glimpse of Grandma English in far less formal attire. She was dressed in some sort of khaki ensemble, her eyes briefly flashing a striking green behind large, magnifying spectacles. They gazed up at Dirk with a critical squint.

It wasn’t until Jake had given him a final wave and drove off did Dirk realize he was still dressed in crumpled boxers and a T-shirt, the ghosts of several bruises dotting his neck.

He regretted not introducing himself when he was in the damn tux. 

“She wants to meet you,” Jake says, now, from where he’s popping a homemade something-or-other into the new apartment’s previously untested oven. He’s been back for a week. 

Dirk flushes at the mere idea.

“She doesn’t want to meet me,” he mutters. 

“She does!” Jake assures him. “I told her all about you and your techy-ness on the way to New Zealand—well, until I had to pop a Dramamine, blasted airsickness dampening everyone’s excitement—but the point is she’s right excited to meet the man that’s caught my fancy!”

“Did she tell you that?” Dirk asks.

“Absolutely,” Jake says.

"Are you sure she told you that?"

"Yes!" Jake says. 

“Before or after you were knocked on your ass by a baby tranquilizer?” 

“Before,” Jake huffs. “I know you’re a tad reclusive, but is it so hard to believe someone might like you on merit?”

“Yes,” Dirk says, reaching for his coffee. 

“She’s interested in meeting you,” Jake affirms him. “And I think you two’d get along swell, Dirk. Trust me.”

 

::::::::::::

 

“He wants me to meet his grandmother,” Dirk says. He doesn’t look up from his screen but he hears the shuffling of papers to his left settle.

“His grandma?” Roxy says, bemused. 

“Yeah. She raised him, I guess,” Dirk says. “Haven’t asked for specifics. That would entitle him to my own tragic backstory.”

“Boo hoo,” Roxy chides. “My name’s Dirk and I had to take a well-paying, top level position at Her Majesty’s Secret Service for a get-out-of-jail-free card, and now I have a hot boyfriend who wants me to meet his grandma of all things, the absolute _travesty_ —” 

“Shut up,” Dirk laughs. “This is serious.”

“Just meet up with the lady,” Roxy says. “Jake has clearly deduced you’re somethin’ worth showing off.”

“Therein lies the problem,” Dirk replies, dry.

“C’mon, she’s a sweet old G-ma,” Roxy says. “How bad could it possibly be?”

 

When Dirk arrives home that night, he’s surprised to find an envelope propped up nicely next to a small package. Considering he gave Jake a key to his place just two days prior, it’s heartwarming to assume the setup is something of an after work pick-me-up. 

Dirk goes for the gift first, carefully unboxing the recycled paper wrapping that looked too nice to be of Jake’s personal doing. He must have employed external, or maybe grandmaternal, help. Inside is a small charm carved in the shape of a horse. It looks exotic. It also looks like pure jade. 

Dirk thumbs the (probably expensive) charm against his palm and reaches for the card. It’s made of stiffer, still recycled paper dressed up in emerald ink. Very earthy. Very Jake. 

_Dear Mr. Strider,_

_It’s come to my budding attention that you and my only Grandson, Jake, have been growing intimate in recent months. He’s assured me of your worth as a romantic partner, and I admit to be impressed by his unprecedented devotion to you. He’s not terribly constant, my Jake. But maybe you already know this._

_I would like to get to know you better, Mr. Strider. You may or may not have noticed Jake has a penchant for trouble. I like to keep an eye on him and his respective interests.  
If you care to join me, I’m taking tea at the Alnwick Gardens this Sunday at 2PM. It might be a trip for you but, with as much as Jake tells me you work, you might deserve the vacation. _

_Follow the signs with the skull and crossbones. You’ll find me._

_Cheers,_

_Jade Harley English_   
_CEO, Skaianet Industries_

 

TT: Hey, Rox.   
TG: striiider. watup my man   
TT: Alnwick Gardens. You know them?   
TG: what that creep thing up in northembarlund   
TG: *northumburland   
TG: **NORTHUMBARLAND   
TG: ******fuck it   
TG: nrthmbrlnd   
TG: ^fill in the vowels yoself   
TT: Northumberland.   
TG: congrats!!! u solved my VOWEL PUZZLE OF THE DAY   
TT: I hope my prize is the answer to my question.   
TG: yeah yeah alkwin is the one place with all the poison flowers and shit   
TG: the employees there gotta wear like hazmat suits to take care of the plants and everything   
TG: the whole shebang   
TT: Right. Poison garden. That’s where I knew the name.   
TG: why do u ask   
TT: Listen. You know sweet old Grandma English?   
TG: ye   
TT: You might want to put a hold on the “sweet” part.


End file.
